


Sweater Weather

by TheeWrites_TF2



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 1960s Slang, And Some Good Ol' Scout and Pyro Moments, Background Relationships, Best Friends, Bickering, But Y'all Feel Free to Fill in the Blanks, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Feel free to correct me, Fluff, Google translate was used, Is Written to be Platonic SniperScout, Merry Smissmas!, Potentially Incorrect French Translations, Presents, Secret Santa 2019, TF2 Secret Santa 2019, Team Bonding, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, also, dad!spy, happy holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheeWrites_TF2/pseuds/TheeWrites_TF2
Summary: It's the season of giving! Sniper is cold, Pyro needs constant babysitting while in the kitchen, Spy helps in his own snarky-way, and Scout may be in over his head this Smissmas with his gift idea...(Secret Santa 2019)-For Lila, (bepolite-beefficient.tumblr.com)
Relationships: Scout & Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bepolite-beefficient](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bepolite-beefficient).



> Hey Lila!!! I was your Secret Santa for the TF2 2019 Community Secret Santa, and I could NOT be more excited to finally send this to you!!! This fic was the result of potentially-more-than-one sleepless nights, multiple edits, and a complete rewrite (or two), ONLY because I wanted this to be a WONDERFUL present for you to wake up to, and I sincerely hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!!!
> 
> MERRY SMISSMAS, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Theewrites, 2019

**Sweater-Weather**

Secret Santa One-Shot 

“Ain’t this place New Mexico?!” Scout grumbled, half-buried inside his RED-licensed varsity jacket, baseball cap pulled half-down his face to cover up his nose. “Hell, cold as Boston ‘ere, bought to freeze my fingers off… Don’t ya got heatin’ in here, Snipes?” Sniper snorted lightly, standing in front of his stove top as he waited for the kettle, interestingly coated in bullet-shaped dents, to heat up the coffee to battle the low-temperatures outside. “ ‘Course I do, mate, just can’t run it all day. Runs out the battery,” He informed him, smirking a bit as the Bostonian groaned loudly. “ _Urrrrrrrrrrrgh_ … Dude, it totally doesn’t, but your van really _sucks_ sometimes.”

“Oi, no one’s got a bullet to ya head to force you to come here,” Sniper retorted, and Scout stuck out his tongue, curling up further on the cushioned dining seat, glaring out the window. “Least the weather could do is _snow_ when it’s cold as crap outside…” He muttered, glancing over as his teammate walked back with two mugs, all but snatching the one with a Scout-insignia out of his hands. Sniper rolled his eyes, “‘ _Thank you’_ would be appreciated every once in a while,” he said, smirking a bit as he watched Scout try to take a swing of his beverage, only to sputter as the hot liquid burnt his tongue. “Urrgh… You’re lucky that this is the only place in the Badlands with _decent_ coffee. Ya Aussies may be crappy at baseball, but ya guys know how to make you’re coffee.”

Sniper shrugged, reclining back in his own seat as he took a more gingerly sip from his mug, pointedly _not_ burning himself. “Better than the MannCo. Blend, not gonna lie,” He mused. “And the local townies use tap for theirs, rather not get lead-poisoning for the sake of a cup of joe…”

“What-poisoning?”

“Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Sniper said dismissively, taking another long slurp of his black coffee. Scout frowned suspiciously for a moment, before shrugging and blowing on his beverage (a bit extensively) before taking an obnoxiously loud slurp. “Eh, weather _sucks_ , but least the holidays make up for it, y’know?” He said, perking up a bit, “Oh man, Ma’s supposed to send me some treats for Smissmas Eve before I ship out to Boston for New Years, and when I tell ya she makes some of the BEST cookies in the world-scratch that, in _history_ , I mean it!” The boastful claimed caused the Support mercenary to smirk again, hiding it behind a mug of coffee the second time. “And not only is she the best cookie-maker, like, _ever_ ,” Scout continued to claim, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. “But her sweaters are the _best_ things ever, all warm and fuzzy, she could be QUEEN of sweaters and cookies… forget that, she SHOULD be!”

Sniper didn’t dare roll his eyes at the younger man’s remarkable enthusiasm, for he still shuddered in pity at the last soul moronic enough to even think of disrespecting the boys mother. However, he allowed himself a small scoff, hidden by a fake cough, before he offered a faint smile to Scout, “Oi, I get it, ya mum is the best thing since anythin’, I _get_ it, Scout.” The runner only grinned, fingers guns to the Australian, “Damn right, dontcha forget it!” Another wistful look came across the runners face, “Ah, but I remember as a kid, wearing those sweaters were the BEST thing. Hell, bet ya anything that anything _my_ Ma made, was like, at _least_ seven times better than the sweater ya ma made ya!”

Sniper paused, brows furrowing a bit as he shrugged, “Actually, never got one from me mum.” Scout blinked incredulously, staring, “Waitwaitwait, back up… you NEVER got a holiday sweater?!” Sniper shrugged again, unbothered while Scout’s jaw dropped halfway to the table, “Nah mate, barely hit the 70’s back in Oz, woulda been bloody scorched inside anything with wool.” The lanky sharpshooter glanced outside, brows furrowed more thoughtfully, “Suppose now that ‘m here in the states, somethin’ like that could be useful,” He reasoned, then shrugged, taking another sip from his mug. “Woulda wanna pester mum ‘bout it though. Her hands are gettin’ stiff these days, and i’d rather give her somethin’ then tell her to make me somethin’ with her own hands, y’know?”

This was a downright _crime_ , Scout thought, mounting horror and pity as Sniper seemed unbothered. Never, again, _never_ getting a sweater for the holidays?! It was unthinkable for the runner to hear this, though he could understand the whole ‘not asking your mom’ bit, it was still bewildering for him to hear this… and for Sniper to think it was _okay_ that he had missed out on such a holiday staple! Scout finally picked his jaw up, and followed Snipers line of sight out the window, the shock dying down and slowly giving away to an _idea_ . It wasn’t snowing, but the weather outside was getting colder by the day, and though the Aussie didn’t complain or show it, Scout knew the guy had to be miserable with just a vest and rolled-down sleeves for warmth while out in the cold. And sure, it was less than a week an a half till Smissmas, and Scout already got the call from his Ma that his packages were already on their way, but that didn’t deter Scout as he smirked a bit, the idea already top awesome for him _not_ to consider.

‘ _Imma give this goon somethin’ NO ONE’s gotten him before,’_ Scout decided boastfully, somehow managing not to blurt out his plan to the unsuspecting recipient of the best-gift ever, by the Bostnian, of course. _‘And it’s gonna be AWESOME.’_

* * *

“Mumbles, I think this is gonna _suck_ ,” Scout groaned, head falling onto the counter in dismay, until a solid whack from the masked mercenary’s weapon of choice, a wooden spoon, caused Scout prop his chin back up on the counter, face now dusted haphazardly in flour. Though the smell of thankfully unburnt cookies (not yet) was nearly heavenly in the RED kitchen, Scout’s troubles were overwhelming the delicious, homey scent that filled the room. “I shoulda listened to my mom when she said to take Home Ec. in middle school,” Scout grumbled, mindlessly handing over a fresh baking sheet of cookie dough to a pleased Pyro, whose cheerful whistling was not fully muted by their mask. “I don’ even know how to make a _stitch_ , let alone use _needles_ or whatever the hell a _thimble_ is for… I didn’t think i’d ever use that kind a crap, y’know?!”

Pyro nodded absently, pressing their goggled-eyes close to the oven, giggling slightly at the sight of cookie dough lumps slowly starting to spread out and solidify to form delicious, non-potentially-food-poisoned sweets for the team to enjoy. Scout reached over, remembering to flick the timer on, because _god forbid_ he left Pyro alone with the oven going without setting a timer, or the pyro fanatic would literally be watching the oven until it bursts into flames, probably after, and clap their hands at their own little ‘ _Smissmas miracle_ ’ like St. Nick had come a week early.

Of course, for everyone else it was less than a _miracle_ and mostly just a crappy cleaning-up session literally days before Smissmas.

“Days…” Scout groaned, plopping his face back onto the flour-dusted counter-top. “Jeez, how the hell am I gonna pull this off in _days_ , when I don’t even know how the hell to DO it?!” There was a scoff from the doorway that made the Bostonian prickle, but he didn’t shove himself up to face the intruder as the smell of fancy cologne and the stench of nicotine-laced smoke. “How humorous,” Spy muttered, in a condescending, and bemused tone that immediately made Scout wanna punch something. “Not knowing how to _do_ something has never stopped you before… You asked out that fast-food harlot for a evening just last month, did you not?”

“Aw, go to hell, Spy, no one likes ya,” Scout grumbled. “And she had a _name_ , jerk.” “Really, what is it then?” Scout opened his mouth…. Closed it… Opened it a second time… And his final response with giving Spy a high-raised bird over his shoulder. “How mature.” Spy drawled dryly, glancing about the kitchen at the blotches of flour, spilled sugar trickling from the counter, and remnants of cracked egg shells spewed throughout the room, the yolk of one egg sticking almost impressively on the ceiling. “I suppose this mess is more tolerable then that of a burnt room,” He muttered lowly, blowing out a lungful of smoke while he raised a brow at Scout.

“And apparently, it’s even editable, consider you are all but _inhaling_ the flour on the counter.” He added dryly, and Scout finally forced himself onto his elbows, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the Frenchman. “ _Hon hon_ , how _hilarious_ !” Scout shot back, doing a horrendous mimic of the Spy’s signature laugh that made even Pyro wince. “Are you here to be the wisecrackin’ ass, or are you actually here for a _reason_ , Spook?” Spy quirked a brow, taking a thick inhale before exhaling. “Though I have plenty of other business to attend to, you’re groans of distress perplexed me to the point that I, regrettably, feel inclined to ask what is the matter.”

Scout scowled, weighing his options. The old fart was nearly intolerable, but he knew that if he kept his mouth shut, the snake would use his so-called ‘ _talents_ ’ to seek the truth in whatever back-alley version he could find to blackmail Scout with, so….

Scout sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, reaching up to thumb away from flour from his chin. “Makin’ somethin’ for Snipes,” He said, giving the Spy a daring look if he desired to _comment_ , but the Frenchman merely brought his smoking stick to his lips, waiting expectedly. “... Look, Ma usually sends me a sweater for the holidays, and I found out Slim hasn’t ever gotten one, and I figured, ‘ _why the hell not_ ,’ right?” Scout rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away as he poked Pyro hard in the shoulder, reminding him to watch the timer before the cookies burned. “But turns out making a sweater is frickin’ _hard_ , and I only have a few more days before Smissmas so… yeah. ‘M in a crappy spot right now, it’s whatever.” 

Spy raised a brow, plucking out his burnt-out smoking stick to flick on the ground and stomp-out casually, (earning a disappointed, saddened mumble from Pyro) “And it never occurred to you to ask for _assistance_ in this Smissmas gift for our favorite _van-inhabiter_ ?” His lip curled slightly at the thought, and Scout rolled his eyes, retorting sharply, “Hey, that van is at least _twice_ as cool as your dumb ‘smoking-room’ place, so don’t go bad-mouthing it. Anyway, _no_ , I haven’t asked nobody yet,” Scout shifted, hiding his sheepishness by moving aside to allow Pyro to drop off another sheet of cookies, filling the room with it’s glorious smell. “It just seems… I dunno, _I_ wanna be able to do it, right? And also, I don’t wanna look… dumb, or some crap like that, just because I can’t make a sweater or whatever, alright?” 

Scout didn’t want to see Spy’s smug expression at another ‘failure,’ but thankfully the rat didn’t comment quite yet, instead opening his cigarette case and lighting up a new cancer-stick, taking a puff in silence for a minute. “... Did your _mother_ never show you the basics of knitting? Or, at the very least, sewing?” Scout paused, glancing back at the Support-class member, but only receiving a neutral look in response, “Well, uh… probably, but I don’ remember… that, or I wasn’t paying attention.” He admitted after a pause, and the Frenchman snorted with an eyeroll. “ _Je suppose que c'est ce dernier_ ,” He muttered under his breath, pulling out a piece of paper and a fancy ballpoint pen before Scout could demand a translation for what he was _positive_ … or _mostly sure_ , was some snarky commentary.

“I honestly could not care whether or not the Bushman freezes without a cheap fabric to keep him warm,” Spy said casually, walking over to the fridge to scrawl out something on his paper, before folding it up elegantly and handing it to Scout. “So, I hope you realize that i’m _only_ doing this in order to cease your complaining for the duration of the holidays.” Taking the note, Scout unfolded it and blinked, squinting for a moment at the fancy-shmancy cursive scrawl of Spy’s. “Okay, uh… what _is_ this, exactly?” Spy rolled his eyes, “It’s a _phone number_ , can’t you re-... Oh nevermind.” He muttered, tapping the paper casually. “A long-time acquaintance of mine in the fashion industry. Though he is _severely_ overqualified to handle your problem, and i’ll have to apologize for disturbing his creative mindspace by allowing you to interact with him, I _suppose_ this will be the easiest and quickest way for you to get your… _holiday sweater_ completed.”

“Wow, uh… screw you too,” Scout said, but he couldn’t help the giddy tone entering his voice as he squinted at the name about the number series, “ _Louie C_ ., huh? Who's that, some old boyfriend of yours?” He meant it as a joking jab, but the fact that Spy actually choked a bit on a lungful of smoke made him glance up quickly with a raised brow, shrinking back when Spy gave him a deathly glare. “It is _Louis,_ and he happens to be my _private_ designer,” The Frenchman hissed, his accent thick now that he was on the defense. “And I would _appreciate_ it if you attempt to be mature during your conversations with him.” “Okay, _okay_ , I got it!!!” Scout said, holding up his hand defensively, as the last thing he wanted/needed at the moment was a trip to ReSpawn for angering the local promiscuous French master of espionage.

“Hmph,” Spy blew out another cloud of dark smoke, “I suggest hurrying up with the call in order to complete your gift before the holiday.” “Ah, right right!” Scout said, folding up the paper and making a dash to the door, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Spy, “So uh… thanks or whatever… ya still a jackass though,” He added quickly, noting the flicker of a smirk on the man’s face. “Don’ get cocky or whatever, though, I can still screw up ya present or dump jarate on it before givin’ it!” Spy paused at that, holding his smoldering cigarette in his hand. “You… got me a present?” Scout shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not… Keep an eye on Pyro for me and maybe you’ll actually see it! Later!” He said quickly, racing out of the room to the nearest phone.

Behind him, Spy placed the cigarette back in his mouth, though it didn’t completely manage to hide the growing upward curl of his lips at the rather striking news from the younger man. “Hmph… a present, _oui_ ? Perhaps he has some manners after al-... SCOUT, I’M NOT _BABYSITTING_ THE PYRO FOR YOU!!!” He roared suddenly, as the smell of cooking-smoke lingered in the air, combined with muffled giggling from the oven caused Spy to groan in annoyance, before stiffly turning to try and salvage the oven before Pyro got too excited about the Smissmas _'miracle_ .’ “ _Merde…_ ”

* * *

Sniper resisted the urge to get up and turn the thermostat on, though the growing frost along his windows were _definitely_ becoming a strong persuasion. Grumbling a bit, the Australian marksman pulled his vest tighter around himself and took a long sip of already luke-warm coffee. Having returned from his customary phone call home, he had all but raced back to his van to shield himself from the biting cold and the cursed breeze that had picked up, not willing to try and trek over to the base. “If ‘m gonna freeze, might as well do it in my own van,” He grumbled, before finally letting out a curse and shoving himself out of the dining booth, stomping through the mobile home to turn on the thermostat.

Or he would’ve, if it would turn on. A sinking feeling, and Sniper tried again. Nada, the temperature remained the same, and the Aussie groaned annoyingly, taking another long slurp of his coffee, giving a glace to the window as he weighed his options. “Could either freeze here in a van, freeze out once I get outside, or be forced with Spy’s ‘ _I told ya so_ ,” Sniper counted off, forced to pause his options as a sharp, rapid-knocking came at his door. Raising a brow, he crossed over and braced himself as much as he could, but still winced as a blast of freezing-air hit him harder than the force of the equally-cold mercenary all but bowled over the RED support member.

“JEEZUS, I think my nose is ice, yo, lookit, is my nose ice or am I crazy?!” Scout said, teeth chattering loudly as he detached himself reluctantly from Sniper, preferring to stand close to the lanky Australian to share body-warmth. “Urrrrgh, it _sucks_ out there, man!” Sniper snorted, speed-walking over to the stove-top to start up a new pot of coffee for the two to share. “Yea’, just came back in from callin’ my parents. The cold is really startin’ to get to me, and if it’s gettin’ to _you_ , it must be right wintery-hell.” The Bostonian nodded, burying his head halfway into the turtleneck of his sweater. “Damn right, man… Oh yeah, lookit!” The younger man regretfully spread out his arms, wincing at the chill the action brought, but did so as to show off his long-sleeved, turtle-neck knitted sweater. It was rather impressive, thick and fuzzy, and designed to match the colors of Scout’s RED-designed uniform, complete with the insignia sown into yard-pattern, circled by symbols of baseball bats and cleats. “I _told_ ya my Ma was the queen of knitting, this sweater is _poppin_ ’, init?!” The boy boasted smugly, looking extremely pleased with himself while Sniper chuckled. “Sure did, mate. Gotta admit, looks good on ya, not to mention tolerable with the chill, bit jealous, i’ll admit,” Sniper admitted, adding the coffee powder to the near-boiling water while Scout paused, smirking a bit under his breath, “Sooo… Jealous enough to want one of ya own, man? 

‘Cause if _so_ …” 

Before Sniper could turn and ask what the suggestive tone was for, Scout turned back and ducked out the door, while Sniper winced and cursed venomously under his breath, until the Offensive member headed back in, kicking the door closed behind him as he held up a poorly-wrapped lump. “Wrappin’ paper happens to be a pain in the ass, i’ll have you know!” Scout declared, “Tape gets all sticky to your fingers-” “Think that’s what tape is _for_ , Scout…” “The paper folds all weird, and hell, _cuttin_ ’ the paper is a pain too, but I managed to figure it out, so… Here.” Scout handed it over to the Aussie, who took it with a raised brow while the Bostonian reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, “Yeah, like… merry Smissmas or whatever. Know it ain’t much and it _might_ be a bit cheesy-as-hell, but… yea’, just open that.”

Sniper chuckled a bit, and casually slipped off the mesh of paper and tape, before blinking at the product he now held in his hand. “... Scout, uh… does this…?” “Have three sleeves? Nah, that third one was _supposed_ to be for a hoodie, but the phone-connection crackled out at the wrong time.” “... Ah. And is this-” “Okay, now _those_ were attempted pockets, but then Louie was all like, ‘ _oh no, you’re not supposed to do that, you absolute novice,_ ’ so I hung up on him while he went on a rant and I tried to sew them shut but panicked so now they’re, like fabric-windows and- _aw c’mon, don’t laugh!”_

Sniper tried, he really did, but his chuckles only grew as he looked over the honestly-horrendous knitted-sweater, smirking a bit as he looked at his teammate, who was turning red in the face. “L-look man, if ya don’ like it, I can just toss it out or use it into tinder-!” “Aw, mate, not like that, that’s not why ‘m laughin’,” Sniper said quickly, waving his hand quickly as he judged which extra-sleeve was the collar, before pulling it on over his head. “Probably one of the ugliest things i’ve ever gotten… But it’s cold as piss out there, and I can tell you _tried_. Not to mention it’s a present from ya, one of my friends for Smissmas and I-” Sniper trailed off with a sigh, though smiled as he rolled his eyes with Scout’s chuckling overshadowing whatever short, heartfelt speech the Australian was attempting.

“God, that looks _terrible_!”

“Ya _MADE_ it! And ya know what, it’s pretty damn warm and comfortable… think ‘m gonna go ‘round wearin’ it, and let everyone know that ya did ya Mum proud with ya own… _unique_ knitting skills.”

“Aw, screw ya, man!” Even with the sucker punch to the shoulder, the two teammates still kept their grins on their faces at the ridiculousness of the present, but Sniper’s grin was honestly grateful as he clapped a hand on Scout’s shoulder. “Honestly mate, probably woulda freeze to death out ‘ere without somethin’ like this… thanks.” Scout smirked a bit, looking pleased with himself, “Hell yeah, man, who else would I hang out with if ya turned to an ice cube?! And besides… It’s Smissmas, man, so… Merry Smissmas or whatever.” He said, rubbing his neck sheepishly even as he grinned, Sniper soon returning the smile. “Yea’... merry Smissmas to ya too, mate.”

**_Fin._ **

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!


End file.
